This Can't Be Life
by crbmyenthusiasm
Summary: Casey Venturi, well, she had problems in spades.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is gonna be… different (and probably ooc). That being said, I hope y'all like it. Oh, this is a Dasey- there will be a lot of flashbacks.

Disclaimer: That's right.

Dr. Kyla Harris had been waiting her entire career to have a patient like Casey Venturi. She was tired of counseling insipid soccer moms who had a fashionable case of ennui and men who, because of "mommy issues", were social cheaters; she wanted to counsel people who actually needed help and not just a swift kick in the ass. To be fair, all of her patients weren't upper and middleclass whiners who were hoping to get a prescription for Prozac or Zoloft—some of them actually had real problems, but most of them didn't. However, Casey Venturi, well, she had problems in spades.

Everybody knew about Casey and her stepbrother-cum-husband Derek Venturi. The two of them had went from being a sad tale discussed at dinner parties, to an exciting tale discussed at dinner parties, and back to a sad tale discussed at dinner parties. Theirs was the type of story the media loved to tell. It had it all: romance, violence, crime, scandal. Really, it was the type of stuff movies, especially Lifetime movies, were made of.

Dr. Harris had long been drawn to Casey's story. She'd followed the papers and news programs closely through the years soaking up every piece of information she could. But unlike her sisters, friends, and the rest of the general public, it wasn't simply the gory details and glamorous clothing that mesmerized Kyla. It was the other, less obvious, details of the Venturis' life that caught her attention.

For instance, for years she'd been trying to figure out Casey's relationship with her son; it was… weird, to say the least. And, if Kyla's and the rest of Canada's unconfirmed suspicion about who the boy's father was were true, then Kyla had to wonder why Casey had even had the kid in the first place. And there was the couple's relationship with their parents. It was common knowledge that Derek and Casey were on the outs with their parents, but nobody could figure out why. Some people thought it had something to do with the fact that they were stepsiblings, but that couldn't be it—Casey and Derek seemed to have something against their parents, not the other way around.

Plenty of unverified theories were swirling around Kyla's head and had been for years. That is why she was on the edge of her seat waiting for her new patient to arrive. Yeah, she was happy that she finally had a worthy patient, but she was practically shaking with excitement because, hopefully, she was finally going to get some answers to some long held questions.

OOOO

When Casey walked into the room she was flanked by a tall dangerous looking man, who Kyla assumed was her bodyguard, and a young woman, about Casey's age, who was decked out in expensive clothing that minus the color was exactly the same as Casey's attire. The gentleman helped both women off with their coats, first Casey and then her companion, who, after a moment, Dr. Harris recognized to be Emily Davis. Emily was often photographed with the Venturis so it wasn't hard for Kyla to pick her out.

Kyla was confused. _'Are Mrs. Venturi's guests planning on staying through the session?'_ "Umm," she began hating how nervous she sounded, "Therapy sessions are usually closed."

Cocking a perfectly arched eyebrow, Casey informed the good doctor, "Yes, I am aware of that. My guests will be waiting in the lobby. I just wanted them to get a good look at you," she said ambiguously.

If Kyla had been nervous before, now she felt a little sick. But, despite her newly developed misgivings she took her seat and watched Emily and the bodyguard leave.

Opting not to lie on the chaise, Casey sat down stiffly in an armchair.

"If I had a choice I wouldn't even be here," Casey told her, bluntly. "I don't even believe in therapy; therapists are crooks, witchdoctors."

"But you were close to your high school guidance counselor, Paul, were you not?" Kyla asked, after glancing at her notes.

Casey's eyes narrowed. "Did Nora tell you that?" Dr. Harris nodded. "What else did she tell you?"

"Nothing much," she said, uneasily. "Your mother just told me a few things about you and your husband—

"That woman discussed my husband with you?" she questioned, angrily.

"Yes." She nodded and cleared her throat. "I was sorry to hear about your husband's death." She offered her condolences more to gauge Casey's reaction than anything else.

Snorting, Casey reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "There are probably about ten people who were sorry to hear about my husband's death," she took a long drag on her cig, "and I seriously doubt that you are one of them."

"Mrs. Venturi, I assure you—

"Stop," Casey demanded, interrupting her. "I'm going to level with you here. The only reason I agreed to see you was because my mother threatened to sue for custody of the boy if I didn't. Now, if I was just a heroin addict I probably wouldn't have anything to worry about," she gave a harsh laugh, "but since my husband was Derek Venturi there's a chance some do-gooder judge might actually let her take my kid."

"Well, okay then." That was one question answered. Kyla had wondered why Casey suddenly wanted therapy, now she knew. "We can meet weekly at this same time. Each session will last approximately"—Casey was shaking her head back and forth, so Kyla stopped outlining the process and asked, "Is there a problem, Mrs. Venturi?"

"Yes; a very big one. That won't work," she said, snuffing out the butt of her cigarette and glancing at her watch. "You're going to cancel the rest of your appointments for today," she declared. "I'll pay you whatever you would've made during a normal day's work, hell I'll double or triple it—we both know I'm good for it. And today we'll have an extended session."

'_An extended session?_' "That's just not going to be possible." Maybe it could have happened, if she would've had some notice, but she couldn't just call in sick. As annoying as her patients were she couldn't just leave them hanging.

"Anything's possible," her expression became dazed, "I learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected."

"That may be so," Kyla conceded, trying to be delicate, "but I doubt that I'll be able to help you with your problems in just one day, extended session or not." After what all had happened, or at least what all Kyla suspected had happened, to this woman she needed years of therapy.

"My mother's insisting that I get 'help'," she used air quotes, "so you're going to help me. But I don't plan on wasting a year or two of my life with you." She shuddered at the thought. "So here's what we're going to do: You will cancel those other appointments, and then I'll tell you some things about my life—past and present. When I'm done you can diagnose me, cure me, and send me on my merry way. And if I make it home before dinner there'll be a bonus in it for you," she told her.

"Look," Kyla began, thoroughly annoyed, "Mrs. Venturi--"

"Casey," she corrected, feeling considerably more generous now that she had laid down the law.

"Okay," she nodded, "Casey, I know you're used to getting whatever you want—

There went her generosity.

"You don't know _anything_ about me," Casey snapped, interrupting her.

"Fine," Kyla snapped right back. "Then enlighten me—tell me about yourself. Tell me why you're obviously so angry, but tell me one session at a time."

They glared heatedly at each other for a long time, until Casey sighed, realizing that the woman wasn't going to back down that easily.

Tilting her head at the doctor in speculation, Casey told her, "You're either a very brave woman or a very _foolish_ one."

Kyla knew Casey was trying to cow her, but she refused to give in. She knew if she showed the slightest trace of fear she'd lose what little control she had.

"_I_ am the woman—the Dr.—your mother chose. So, I suggest you agree to my terms if you want to keep your son."

Casey thought a moment, really thought. And she knew, as much as she hated for it to be true, that for the first time in years her last name wasn't going to be enough to scare somebody into bending to her will. _Damn._

"Fine," she gave in, grudgingly. "But we have to meet everyday; none of that once a week crap. I don't want to be doing this forever."

'_That makes two of us.'_ "Alright," Kyla agreed, "but no weekends," she stipulated, and Casey didn't even attempt to hide the 'duh' expression that was covering her face. Kyla ignored her though, and added, "And I want you to leave your goon squad at home."

Casey snorted. "No can do. Everywhere I go, they go; they're my buddies," she said in a singsong voice. Kyla looked poised to respond, so Casey continued seriously, "I don't do anything without Emily and, as you saw earlier, Jamie is attached to our hip. So coming here without them isn't going to happen."

Her tone left no room for discussion and it had this sad little desperate quality to it when she mentioned Emily, so Kyla decided to drop it. Better to choose her battles wisely.

Nodding reluctantly, Kyla said, "Okay, but they have to stay in the lobby."

'_No? Really?'_ Rather than roll her eyes like she wanted to, Casey inclined her head and stuck her hand out.

Kyla shook it, but she couldn't help but think that she had just done something incredibly stupid.

TBC…

A/N: This was just like the prologue. Bear with me, the main plot probably won't become apparent for a few chapters. I've seen a few fics lately that look like they share similarities with this one, but the main plot of this fic is something that I haven't seen before.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't have much to say except stay tuned for the author's note at the end.

Disclaimer: I don't even want to make a profit off this. You know what they say, "the more money we come across, the more problems we see."

OOOOOOOO

When they returned to the house Sam was pacing the length of the foyer and he did not look happy.

"Sam, what's wro—

Emily wasn't even able to voice her query before he started shouting.

"What were you thinking?"

"Excuse me?" Casey said, jaws tight. She was already in a funky mood and having Sam shout at her wasn't doing anything to improve that.

Sam took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "With all the people whose sole job is to keep you safe—to keep both of you safe," he corrected, glancing at Emily, "why would you only take Jamie with you?"

"Because I only trust Jamie," she snapped back, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Though he was the current focal point of the conversation, Jamie leaned against the wall and tried his best to melt into the background. They could talk about him all they liked—he was there to protect, not debate.

"Okay," Sam sighed, "but Derek trusted all of them, or he wouldn't have hired them or arranged for them to continue working for you in the event of his death. So,--"

Eyes flaring, Casey inhaled sharply. "Right. Derek is _dead_," she said, voice chillingly soft. "So I'll do whatever I want to do; and if I only want to take Jamie, then I'll only take Jamie," she declared, before pushing past Sam and stomping up the stairs.

Emily could've killed him—now Casey was going to be worse than usual.

"Way to go, Sam," she said smartly after they heard Casey's door slam shut. "Now she'll probably stay in bed the rest of the day."

"I'm sorry," he said, "but you know I'm right. Derek made those arrangements for a reason. It's what he wanted and I think we should respect that. Besides, forget that it's what he wanted, it's something we need. She could still be in danger—we all could be in danger."

"I know that," she snapped. Sometimes Emily wondered if Sam forgot that she was probably more caught up in Derek and Casey's mess than even he was.

She also had to wonder if he forgot just how fragile Casey was. "Just like I know that you know better than to bring up Derek's death to her. God," she swore, "I can't believe you did that."

He folded his arms across his chest and leveled her with a look. "Well, I thought you knew better than to let her go through with this therapy thing." He paused, then, "do you have any idea how much trouble we would all be in if the wrong people found out the wrong information?"

Emily had to resist the urge to roll her eyes."I'm aware of the risks, Sam. But, therapy sessions are confidential. If Dr. Harris said anything she would lose her license."

Sam didn't resist anything—he rolled his eyes then and waved his arms in a dismissive gesture. "We both know that therapy sessions are only as confidential as the therapist wants it to be—its not like there is some magical spell that guarantees her silence." Emily started to speak, but Sam kept right on going. "Even if she is the quiet type, who's to say that the police won't bug her office." Off her look, he added, "trust me; they are not above bugging a doctor's office."

"I wasn't going to say they were." Nobody had to tell her what cops were capable of when they really wanted to catch somebody. "But it's not like they could use any of that in court; it's inadmissible." Really, he was the one with the fancy law degree; she shouldn't even have to be telling him this. "No judge would let what Casey tells her doctor in as evidence, whether it was from the doctor's mouth or on tape."

Sam scoffed. "So what? Do you want them to know all our business, even if they can't use it?"

Sighing, she said, "You know I don't. But I don't want to lose Vince"—when Sam raised an eyebrow at her, she backpedaled, having realized what she said. "I don't want Casey to lose Vince," she corrected.

"I don't either," he declared. "You're not the only one who loves that boy; I'm his godparent too." He sounded a little insulted and Emily had the good grace to look apologetic. "I'm just trying to protect him, protect this whole family."

Emily hugged him then. He was right—they were all a family. And she knew it was his loyalty to their odd little family, and especially Derek that was making him be so bossy, but he was going to have to accept defeat this time. Casey was going to therapy. Period. If that's what needed to happen to get Nora and George off Casey's back, then that's what was going to happen.

"I know you mean well," she told him, after pulling back from the embrace, "but you've got to let this go. This is one problem you and I can't solve for Casey." He still had on his stubborn face, so she went on. "You know as well as I do that there is a good chance Casey could lose custody if challenged by the right person."

Sam hated to admit it, but he knew she was right. Mothers almost always won custody, but if there was one person who could prove to be the exception to the rule it would probably be Casey. She was just lucky like that.

"Fine, she can go to therapy…"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Emily had to bite back a smile. '_What makes Sam think Casey needs his permission?'_

"…but could you guys take more guards with you next time? We do pay them for a reason."

Emily nodded, but they both knew that she couldn't make any promises. Although she and Sam were able to reach Casey sometimes—way more often than most people, in fact—only Derek had had the power to truly and, more importantly, constantly get through to her. And now that Derek was gone Emily didn't know if anybody would be able to really get through to Casey again.

OOOO

When Casey couldn't stand the staring anymore, she snapped and barked, "What do you want?" She winced at how mean her voice had come out—she wasn't even upset with Vincent. But she'd had another sleepless night, and watching her son dance in front of her doorway while he seemed to be inwardly debating with himself about whether or not to come in wasn't doing a thing for her already frazzled nerves. If anything he was putting her even more on edge—Casey hated to be stared at, especially by Vincent.

Vince gulped and left her room, but returned seconds later holding a tray laden with a glass of juice and a bowl of oatmeal. Walking carefully so he wouldn't spill the tray's contents, he made his way over to his mother and sat the tray on the bed.

Casey eyeballed the food warily. She really wasn't much for eating those days; a cigarette and a glass of wine was her breakfast of champions.

"Umm," he began, somewhat anxiously, "Auntie Emily said you weren't feeling well yesterday, and since this," he pointed to the food, "is what she makes me whenever I'm sick, I asked Cook to make it for you."

He sounded all pitiful—_Damn_—so Casey sat up and, despite the churning of her stomach and the fact that she wanted nothing more than to tell him to get out of her room, she shoved the spoon in the bowl and started eating.

"I… uh… brought you up the paper too," he told her and then pointed to it.

He still looked and sounded too nervous for her liking, so she gave him an awkward pat on the head and said, "Thanks."

The oatmeal was really only making her feel worse and after a few bites she stopped trying to eat it, opting instead to glance through the newspaper. Big mistake. There on the front page, not as the main story, but tucked into the bottom right corner was the headline: "Analyze This? Casey Venturi In Therapy."

Inhaling sharply, Casey tossed the paper across the room. _'Why is the paper a tabloid now? Jesus.'_

She didn't need to read the article to know what it would discuss—they always said the same thing; always told the same lies about her and Derek. Her husband had been a good man—a hero even—but the media always portrayed him like some sort of monster. It was enough to make her sick.

Turning watery eyes to her son, she asked, "Why would you bring this to me?"

"I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered out, close to tears himself. He knew better than to give his mother the paper without checking the headlines first, it had just slipped his mind that morning. Getting off her bed, he started edging towards the door while he explained. "I wasn't thinking—

"What's new? Do you ever think?" she scolded him.

"Sure," he said, sadly. And when she scoffed, he got even more upset and, in attempt to hurt her feelings too added, "I think about how I wish Emily was my mom."

Bowing her head, she responded without thinking. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." Immediately, she regretted her words—she hadn't meant that the way it came out. But when she raised her head to apologize Vincent was gone and in his place was a very angry looking Emily.

"Em, I didn't mean it that way," she explained. "I just—

"_I_ know what you meant," Emily interrupted. "Vince is only ten though and he doesn't know the entire… situation; so think about how it must've sounded to him," she said, sounding angry. And, angry she was. A few minutes earlier when she had gotten out of bed and began padding down the hallway towards Casey's room to make sure Casey was up and getting ready for her therapy session, the last thing Emily had expected to hear was her saying something so nasty to Vince.

"I… I." She was crying almost hysterically and gasping for air, and Emily thought she was going to have a panic attack. "I need Derek," she finally managed to get out, before sinking back into her pillows and balling even harder.

Emily's expression softened immediately, and in a matter of seconds she was sitting next to her best friend and attempting to comfort her.

"I know you miss Derek," she said. "Heck, we all miss him. Derek is gone though, Casey, and he is never coming back." That caused Casey to cry even harder, but Emily kept right on going. Usually, she'd let Casey cry until she didn't have any tears left, but they didn't have time for that today. "Vince is _here_ though," she stressed, "and he needs you to fight for him. You don't want to lose him, do you?"

Casey was silent a long moment, even her sobs started to subside. _That_ was a question she had posed to herself many times- did she want her son?

Yeah; she did want him. Even though their relationship was rocky at best, she still stuck by the decision she'd made all those years ago—she wanted to keep her boy.

"That's what I thought," Emily said, accepting Casey's silence and calmer demeanor as an answer. "So, you need to get up and get ready to go to therapy."

Casey nodded.

"And," Emily began, rising from the bed, "we're taking more people today. Jamie can be the only one in the car with us if you want, but at least two more men will be following us."

"Whatever," was Casey's apathetic reply. She was too drained to put up a fight. Actually, she was too drained to do much more than miss her husband.

OOOO

"Knock, knock," Emily called, before entering Vince's room.

As soon as she caught sight of him, Emily's heart broke a little. The way he was sitting Indian style in the middle of his gigantic bed made him look even younger than his ten years.

"I won't take it back," he said, fiercely.

"Huh?" Emily asked, moving towards him.

"I won't take back what I said about wishing you were my mom," he said, finally looking at her. "You're so nice and mother's so… mean. She's been even worse since Dad… er… um since Derek died."

"You can still call him Dad," she told him softly. "His being dead doesn't change that." She wasn't even going to touch the part about him wishing she were his mother. Who was she to ask him to apologize? She'd wished for the same thing a few times herself. At the rate things were going he was probably the closet thing she'd ever have to a child of her own.

"It changes everything."

'_From the mouths of babes,' _Emily thought, and then, "Things have changed," she agreed, "but I think they're about to get a little better." _'That's what therapy is for, right? To make people better?'_ She smiled a little. "Hey, with any luck your mom might start to cheer up."

"Really?" He didn't sound hopeful, just skeptical. His mother had been her cheeriest when Derek was around, and even then she hadn't been Mary Poppins or anything. Now that Derek was gone Vince seriously doubted that she'd ever be happy again.

"Yes, really," she assured him. After moving to stand in front of him, Emily kneeled down so they would be eye to eye. "Everything is going to be okay," she said, before pulling him into a hug. She really, really hoped she wasn't lying to him.

OOOO

"Are you okay, Casey?" Kyla asked. The woman had been sitting in her office for about five minutes and, minus a tight-lipped greeting, she hadn't said a word. And, she looked like hell too.

"Rough night," she said, shortly, then added after a slight pause, "and morning."

"Have you been experiencing nightmares?"

'_Every night for the past ten years.'_ "Nope," she lied.

"Okay." The way she drew the word out spoke to her disbelief. "Well, would you like to tell me what happened this morning?"

'_No.'_ She didn't _want_ to tell Dr. Harris anything. But she did want to avoid a custody suit, so she'd talk. "I said something mean to the boy. It was an accident, but he got upset."

"And does that happen often? You being mean to _your son_?" she asked, emphasizing the words.

Casey's eyes narrowed; it almost sounded like the woman was being funny. "Yeah, probably," she answered honestly. "I don't do it on purpose though—we've just never gotten along that well."

Never gotten along that well? Wasn't Vincent Venturi like ten? Sometimes Kyla really wished she could cut all the doctor crap and just speak plainly with her patients—this was definitely one of those times. But she knew she couldn't.

"And why do you think that is?" she asked, even though she was pretty sure she had figured out the answer years ago.

"I don't know," she said, jaws so tight it almost looked painful.

'_A damned of a lie,'_ she thought, then another drawn out, "Okay. What about your son's relationship with his father? Did he get along fine with Derek?"

A bark of laughter erupted from Casey's throat, and it was so raw and rough that Kyla had to wonder if it had hurt.

Staring curiously at her patient, she waited on Casey to say something.

"Well," Casey glanced at her watch, "it took you all of seven minutes to bring up what every gossipmonger in this town has been dying to know for years." She stared at Kyla, disdain clearly etched on her face. "God, people are _so_ predictable."

"Excuse me?" she asked, both genuinely perplexed and insulted. Casey Venturi was seriously testing her ability to remain professional.

"Why beat around the bush? If you want to ask me something then just come right out and ask me?"

Kyla kept her expression clear and impassive, but now that she was pretty sure that she knew what Casey was talking about, she did feel a little guilty. This was the problem with having a patient whose life actually interested her- it made her ask questions without thinking. Sure, her question wasn't out of line or completely off topic, but she should've realized that the wording would hit a nerve with Casey. Because as she replayed the words in her mind she could kind of see how it could have, to an obviously overly sensitive person like Casey, almost sounded like, in a roundabout way, she was asking if…

"Go ahead, ask me," Casey challenged, sounding as if she was daring her. "Ask me if Derek is Vincent's father."

Casey was angry—she was downright furious, and anybody else might've been afraid to voice their question. However, her fury only encouraged Kyla—Casey was too angry, too adamant that Kyla not ask her. And that made Kyla think that maybe, just maybe, she actually did want to be asked. Maybe "want" is too strong a word; it was more like Casey needed somebody to ask her, somebody who she could give an honest answer.

So, keeping her voice as annoyingly calm as she could make it, Kyla conceded. "Okay. Was Derek the father of your son?"

TBC…

A/N: I tip my hat to the patient people who are reading this fic. The next chapter should be more interesting, but I make no promises. Casey's attitude will be explained later- _that_ I can promise. So, I'll ask you again to bear with me here.


	3. Chapter 3

**READ ME: **Here's the thing, you might read this chapter and go wtf. But if you bear with me and stay tuned for the author's note at the end I'll explain some things.

Disclaimer: Go ahead and sue me. I've got all the time in the world.

Shout out to Dontia! Thanks for reading!

OOOOOOOO

Shaking her head back and forth, as if saddened by what she was hearing, Casey said, "You're all so stupid."

Her tone had been derisive at best and Kyla had to count to ten before she trusted herself to speak without biting Casey's head off.

"Excuse me?"

"No," her lip curled, "excuse me. I misspoke—you all think I'm stupid. You think I don't know what people say? You think I've never picked up a paper or a tabloid? Extra! Extra!" Her voice was both mocking and angry. "Read all about it. 'Derek Venturi out of Prison and… Raising his Victim's Son.'" Sadly enough, she had actually seen a headline that had said exactly that. "You think what exactly? That he got out of prison and," she broke off and shrugged. "Actually, I don't know what y'all think."

What did she think? She thought that maybe Casey was right and at least some of the people the woman encountered were stupid. She knew a lot of people didn't buy it, but Kyla didn't see how anybody could've bought the story that Casey and Derek had fed the cops. Did she think Derek had saved Casey's life? Absolutely. Did she think Derek had saved Casey's life before some damage had been done? Absolutely not.

Not only that, but she was pretty sure Derek had saved his stepsister's life, not his girlfriend's. Even with all the stalker like things she had done, Kyla hadn't been able to find anyone, who was willing to talk to her, that could actually corroborate the whole 'we were together in high school' story. But even if they had been together then, Kyla had done the math. If she was right about Derek being too late to stop William Blake completely, then Casey's son more than likely wasn't a Venturi.

_That's_ what Kyla thought. And, honestly, she didn't think she was wrong. But it was all only a theory, she wanted to hear Casey verify it. There would be no way she could help the woman until she was willing to tell the truth—Casey would never improve if she was lying to herself and to her therapist about what her problems really were and what they stemmed from.

So, she decided to push a little further.

"Alright, since I'm so misinformed, why don't you tell me what exactly it is I'm so wrong about?"

"Look," Casey sounded as if she was trying very hard to put a tap on her anger, "Derek raised the boy like a son because he loved him like a son. Period."

"Yes, I'm sure he did." Well, actually she wasn't—Casey didn't even seem to love him like a son. "But you still haven't answered my question: was Derek Vincent's father?"

"So stupid," Casey chanted under her breath.

'_She has one more time to call me stupid…'_

"You're wrong about everything." She raised her gaze to look directly into Kyla's eyes and laughed mockingly. "You can't even ask the right question."

'_What?'_

"You think I'm screwed up because I had William Blake's"—she stumbled a bit over the name—"kid?" she asked, voice both high and breathy.

'_Aren't you?'_

"And I might be…"

'_I knew it!' _Kyla silently cheered._ 'I knew he wasn't Derek's kid.'_

"… but did you ever think that there was more to it than that?"

Umm… no, actually, she had not. What the hell was Casey talking about?

"'Cause there is," she informed her. "There's a lot more."

_There was a very noticeable spring in her step when Casey walked into her house following her International Club meeting. School was over for the week, the younger siblings were all sleeping over at their friends houses (she wasn't exactly sure how Derek had managed that, but she loved him for it) and the parents had left, at her recommendation, for a "well deserved" night out. For the first time in thirty-eight days, yes, she had counted; Casey was going to be alone in the house with her boyfriend for more than ten minutes. _

_And since he had been such a great boyfriend the past year—banning the use of "Klutzilla", getting Tinker Tomlin to stop following her around like a lost puppy, and "talking" some freshman into switching lockers with her, all under the guise of being a good big brother, of course, Casey had something special planned for him._

_Time was a bit of a problem though—he'd be home soon. But there was just enough time for her to throw the lasagna she had put together and hid in the deep freezer at about three that morning in the oven, and jump in the shower before he got home. _

_And, after putting her books and jacket away neatly, that's exactly what she set about doing. _

_It was probably the quickest Casey had ever gotten ready for a date. Thanks to her trusty shower cap there had been no need to blow dry her hair and she had picked out the perfect outfit—something sexy, without being slutty—days ago. It only took a couple of minutes for her to get dressed. She quickly parted her hair down the middle and put it in two pigtails. Derek had told her once that the hairstyle was a favorite of his and though she had a couple ideas of why that was, one of them involving a pleated skirt and knee highs, she didn't like to think about it too much. The final touch was a few sprays of vanilla scented body spray; Derek said it made her smell like cookies, which she thought was a bit weird, but still cute._

_Everything about the night was for him. He'd been great, and she wanted to thank him for it. Hence, the lasagna and…_

_The lasagna._ Damn. _She ran out of her room and headed, frantically, down the steps. Casey knew it wasn't done, but she had wanted to put aluminum foil on it before the top got too brown. _

_But when she skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, she was surprised to hear somebody fiddling around in the kitchen. _'Surprise killer,' _she thought to herself. _

"_Derek," she called, making her way towards the kitchen, "it's not ready--" the words died on her lips. That definitely wasn't Derek who was standing in front of her. _

'Run, Casey. Run. There is a strange man in your kitchen… why the hell aren't you running?'

_Despite the urgings of her inner voice, Casey couldn't make herself move. She felt paralyzed and weak. She knew she had to get out of there, but her fear held her in place._

_He didn't make any move to come closer to her—it was almost as if he knew she was too scared to move. Instead, he grinned evilly and said, "Why, you smell good enough to eat."_

'You have got to run,' _her mind screamed_. 'On the count of three. One.'

"_I've been watching you for a week now." His voice held amusement and his eyes were practically dancing._

'Two.'

"_Casey, right?"_

'Three.'

_By some miracle she got hers legs to move and she sped towards the door. And she almost made it. Almost._

"_Touch that door, and I will shoot you," he called from behind. Oddly enough, if it was possible, he sounded even more amused._

_But, all amusement aside, he sounded dead—emphasis on dead—serious. _

_And she stopped. _

"_Now turn around," he practically sung._

_Once again, she followed his command. And, sure enough, she was greeted with the sight of him holding a gun. _

"_Come here," he ordered._

"_Please," she managed to gasp out. Her voice was shaking and her vision was becoming blurry because of the tears that were flooding her eyes. Its funny, she hadn't even realized she was crying. "Please don't hurt me."_

"_It won't hurt… much." Laughter erupted from his throat then, and it only deepened when he noticed Casey flinch._

Fight back…_During all the Lifetime and Lifetime-esque movies she had watched, what had she always told herself? That she would fight back—that she may go down, but she was going down swinging. But now that the moment she had never really thought would arrive, had actually come, she couldn't do anything but cry. _

"_Come here," he repeated._

Fight back.

_But she was still rooted in her spot. And her refusal to follow his directions seemed to be exciting him rather than disturbing his plans._

"_Fine." His smile widened. "Then I'll come to you." And that's just what he did. _

_He moved slowly, languidly, as if he were strolling in the park on a Sunday afternoon. If felt like years, but in reality he was right in front of her within seconds._

_His bright blue eyes were sparkling with something. Lust? Evil? A combination of both? Most notable though and perhaps most frightening, was the mirth. He looked so damn happy, like he was having the time of his life._

_And, in the end, that's what ended up being the spark that ignited Casey's will to fight back. Using all the strength she could muster, she pulled back her fist and swung. _

_To her credit, it made an impact. Blinking repeatedly, he simply stared at her as if he couldn't believe that she'd had the temerity to hit him. But when she launched herself at him, he seemed to get over his shock and his own fist struck out._

_Then everything went black._

_OO_

_It was a few minutes before Casey came to, and as soon as she did she wished that God had had the mercy to let her remain unconscious. Her eyes remained closed and even though she couldn't see him she could certainly feel him. He was everywhere—on top of her, inside of her. His hands were wrapped loosely around her throat and for a split second she prayed that he would just put her out of her misery._

_But only for a second. That wasn't her. She wasn't passive; she wouldn't cower. And for the second time that evening she thought,_ 'I may go down, but I'm going down swinging.'

_It never happened though. _

_Whether it was divine intervention or just good ass timing, Casey didn't know. But at that moment the front door swung open, slammed shut, and within seconds the manic was ripped away from her. Thank God._

_Getting her bearings, or, at least, attempting to get her bearings, Casey rose from the floor and backed up against the wall furthest away from the fighting duo. Really, fighting didn't even begin to cover it—Derek was like a man possessed. He wasn't trying to subdue her attacker—he was trying to kill him. But he just wasn't strong enough. Despite Derek's best efforts, he couldn't get the best of the guy—the man was just too strong and too crazed. And, frankly, Casey was in fear for Derek's life. The guy looked like he could snap him in two, besides that, he had a gun. _

'The gun…' _she thought, fearfully._ 'Oh, God, he's gonna kill Derek; he's gonna shot him.' _Her crying cranked in to overdrive. Sore, violated, scared to death—she was all that and more. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and disappear from this madness, but she knew she couldn't, knew she had to help Derek. _

_But how? She couldn't go over there—_he_ was over there. Frantically, her gaze swept the room like she thought something—some idea, some sort of Hail Mary plan—would jump out at her. And then she saw it, lying carelessly on the couch, right near where she'd been rooted when he knocked her out. She saw his gun. _

_There was no doubt in her mind this time: this was divine intervention._

_They were grunting, swearing, panting, rolling around on the floor, and doing everything but looking at her. _

_Casey couldn't move quick—she was in too much pain. But she did get there and she picked up the gun. She didn't think about what kind it was, if it had a safety, or even if it was really loaded. She didn't think about anything except helping Derek. And with eyes wide, she raised the cold and heavy object in her violently shaking hands and fired._

_It was loaded alright._

_She was jerked back with the force of the shot. Casey hadn't meant it to be a warning shot, but her aim was so off that first time that that's exactly what it was. The men sprung apart, or, rather, her attacker released Derek from his chokehold. And the psycho's expression morphed from confusion to surprise to fear so quickly that it was almost comical. Almost. Actually, his obvious fear only succeeded in getting Casey to tighten her grip on the gun. _'Good. Now he knows how it feels.'

"_Not so funny anymore, is it?" she whispered, voice so low and shaky that she wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't understood her._

_But she knew he had. It was there on his face, in his eyes. And for a moment they just looked at each other, locked in an odd little staring contest. Until…_

"_Casey," Derek murmured, finally lifting himself from the ground. _

_When her gaze shot to her beaten boyfriend, psycho guy made his move. He ran for the door and without really thinking Casey fired again._

_That time she didn't miss. _

_And if felt good._ 'I'm not a victim now, am I?' _He'd tried and succeeded in hurting her, scaring her._ 'Why shouldn't he have to hurt too?' _She fired again. And then she fired four more times._

Casey laughed scornfully. "So, really, I guess it's a toss up." Kyla looked like she might faint, but Casey just didn't give a damn. "Am I 'ill'," she used air quotes, "because I had my rapist's kid, because I killed a man in cold blood, or "—she wasn't laughing anymore. Quite to the contrary, she was visibly shaking and her breathing was off, like Emily had done earlier, Kyla wondered if Casey was going to have a panic attack. "Because," she inhaled sharply and brought a hand to her chest, "or because I-I-I ruined--"

That was it—she couldn't finish. And when Kyla reached over to dial for the paramedics, Emily burst in the room. Her timing was so perfect that Kyla wondered if the woman had had a glass up to the door.

Ignoring the doctor, Emily kneeled before her friend and began talking to her in a low soothing voice. "Casey," she murmured. "It's okay. Here," she pulled a paper bag out of nowhere and handed it to her, "breathe into this." Casey did as she was told and after a couple of minutes of Emily talking to her, she was a little better.

After rising to her feet, Emily clasped Casey's hand and helped her to her feet. Right before they exited the office, Emily looked the stunned doctor in her eyes and told her one last thing.

"We'll be back."

'_Well,'_ Kyla thought, '_that didn't sound ominous at all.'_

OO

There were no arguments about taking her medicine this time. Casey popped her pills like candy and then leaned back into her seat, willing Jamie to drive faster.

Not for the first time, Emily seriously contemplated taking a few pills herself. Her mind was swimming and all she wanted to do was forget. Forget everything she'd just heard Casey tell Dr. Harris; and forget everything she'd witnessed all those years ago.

_How can a person who has never heard a gun shot in real life possibly know that what they heard was indeed a gun going off? Easy – the sound is unmistakable. You hear a gun going off and you'll know what it is. Emily sure knew. And if she wasn't sure when she heard the first shot, then she was unwaveringly positive when she heard the next five. The only thing she was unsure about was where exactly it had come from. It had almost sounded like the mini explosions had come from Casey's house… but that couldn't be right, could it? _

_She crawled out from under her bed and looked, through a window, at the Stone's house—pitch black and not a car in sight. So, it probably wasn't them._ 'Could it have really come from Casey's place?'

_Well, there was only one way to find out. Swallowing her fears, she raced out of her house and over to the McDonald-Venturi home. Calling the police… it never entered her mind. Phoning her parents who were out at some sort of fundraiser… nope, that never crossed her mind either. All she could think about was getting to her friends and making sure they were alright._

_She hadn't lost all of her thinking capabilities though. With Dimi's bat in one hand and her cell phone in the other, she creeped up to the back door of their house. It was already open._ 'This can't be good.'

_Walking as quickly and as quietly as she could manage, Emily made her way into the house. When she came upon the scene in the living room all she could do was gasp._

_The sound brought Derek's, who had been needlessly checking the pulse of whoever it was that was laying in a pool of their own blood, attention to her. Casey, however, remained focused on the corpse, the gun still gripped loosely in her hands. _

"_Get out," Derek barked._

"_Umm, no." She looked at him as if he were crazy and rushed to Casey's side. She was just about to try and get Casey to put the gun down, when Derek yelled._

"_Don't touch anything, Emily." Standing, he sidestepped the pool of blood and moved closer to his friend. "You really need to go."_

'Had he lost his mind?' _She didn't know what all had happened, but she knew that Casey needed her. "No."_

"_Emily," he growled, "just--" he broke off, when he heard… sirens?_

"_You called the police?" he asked, incredulous._

"_No, honest." She shook her head. "I just ran over here. I didn't call anyone."_

"_Shit!" He slammed his fist into the end table. "Shit, shit, shit."_ 'Think, Derek. Think.' _And he did that for a moment—pacing and muttering to himself, all the while the sirens were getting louder and louder._

"_Derek," Emily began, after a moment, "what—_

"_Go home," he told her again, then, "and call our parents. You still have the emergency numbers Nora gave you when you babysat Marti right?" She nodded. "Call them and tell them to come home, quick."_

_She hesitated only briefly before bobbing her head, and starting back the way she'd come. _

"_And Emily," he waited until she turned back towards him, "forget everything you saw."_

_She nodded one more time, but she had the feeling she'd never forget._

And she never had. But she had kept what she'd seen to herself. And in the weeks that followed the shooting she'd had to watch silently as everything spiraled completely out of control.

OOOO

As soon as they parked the car, Casey excused herself, fled to her room, and threw herself into bed. But as drained and worn out as she was, sleep proved elusive. All she could do was think.

'Is Emily here?' _Casey could've sworn that she'd heard the voice of her best friend, but when she finally drew her eyes away from the bloody mess of a man on the floor and looked around the room she didn't see Emily anywhere. All she saw was Derek, who was pacing back and forth and mumbling to himself._

_What was he saying? She couldn't make out his words, her heart was beating too loud, echoing in her ears._ 'Calm down, Casey, and focus. What is Derek saying?'

"…_before the police get her."_

Police? _Come to think of it, she could hear sirens._

_He stopped pacing and looked at Casey then. His already broken heart shattered a little more at the glazed look in her eye. After flying to her side, he liberated the gun from her grasp and said, "Baby? Baby, I know you're upset." Understatement of the year. "But I need you to be strong for me, Princess."_

_She looked in his eyes then, trying her best to follow along. _

"_We need to come up--" He broke off suddenly. Tires were screeching to a halt outside. _

_Time's up._

"_Whatever I say, just go along with it, okay?" he hissed, while giving her hand a squeeze. _

_She nodded dumbly. _

If only. If only she'd known then what she knew now. If only she hadn't been so out of it. If only she hadn't been so dumb.

OOOO

Kyla could've kicked herself. _'How could I have been so dumb?' _

It took a while, but the initial shock of Casey's confession had worn off somewhat. Then, instead of being shocked, Kyla was scared out of her mind. The widow of a known gangster—really, she hated to label him as such, but she didn't know what other title would fit—had just confessed to a murder that another person, her late husband, had done time for.

When her patients had confessed their crimes to her in the past they were always petty—affairs, hitting a parked car, or something just as silly. But murder? Kyla was no expert, but she'd taken a couple of law classes in school; and, she could be wrong, but that was not self-defense as she understood it.

_Damn. Damn, damn, damn._ This was her fault for pushing so hard. And now, because she didn't know when to quit—because she didn't know when to tell a potential patient "thanks, but no thanks"—she had put herself in danger. Because even though she had no intention of breaking their confidence, she had no idea if Casey and her people were aware of that.

If they weren't, then she was in trouble.

TBC…

A/N: I don't want you to think that this is another rape fic. Not that I have anything against those or anything; that just isn't the main point of this. Well, it is and it isn't—this fic is actually going to revolve heavily around Derek. Anyways, if you have any questions just let me know.


	4. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm back… sort of anyway. This chapter is short and unfinished-like (it was supposed to have a flashback, but it was taking too long (ha ha) to write) but I decided to post it anyway. I was starting to feel like if I didn't post something soon, then I never would.

Disclaimer: Sure; why not?

OOOOOOOO

"Emily," Sam greeted her as he walked into the dining room. "Do you mind if I join you?"

_Damn_. Emily had been avoiding Sam since she and Casey returned home the day before. She really wasn't itching for him to get her alone and start asking her what had gone on during therapy. Actually, she'd been hoping that he was gone for the morning—now that Derek was dead, Sam's practice wasn't exclusive to one client anymore, and work would occasionally take him away from home. But, nope; no such luck today. There he stood in the doorway, tentative smile on his face, waiting for her to offer him a seat.

And she did. "Of course I don't mind," she lied. "Have a seat." Really, what else could she say? '_Yeah, actually, I do mind.'_

"You aren't going into the office today?" she inquired, hoping to be able to steer the conversation in a direction that wouldn't end up causing his head to explode.

"Yeah, I am." He glanced at his watch and said, "I have to leave in a few minutes actually, but I wanted to talk to you first."

"Really?" she said, nervously. "About what?"

"About yesterday," he told her. "I just… I just want to apologize."

The fork Emily was holding dropped to the plate with a clank. "What?"

"I was a little hard on you yesterday, about the whole therapy thing," he admitted. "And I'm sorry. It's just," he paused a moment, and then, "I worry about this family so much." Reaching across the table he grabbed her hand, before adding, "Especially you. And I know that sometimes I'm—

Removing her hand from his grasp, Emily held up her other hand to silence him. She couldn't, in good conscience, let him go on apologizing when he'd been so obviously right. So far, therapy hadn't gone very well at all. And today they were going to have to do some major damage control.

"Sometimes you're right," she finished, sending him a significant look.

It took a minute for her meaning to sink in, but when it finally did, Sam's eyes about popped out of his head.

"Shit," he swore, voice low and harsh. "I was right?" He didn't even wait for her head to nod before saying, "what happened?"

Swallowing hard, Emily said, "Casey told Dr. Harris what happened the night Blake died." She paused, then, "what really happened."

For a long time Sam simply stared at Emily. She was so obviously upset and afraid, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her. But there wasn't time for any of that now—plans needed to be made, favors needed to be called in.

"Everything will be fine," he said shortly. All traces of nice and apologetic Sam were gone; he had on his lawyer face.

"Okay," she said, slowly.

He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet.

"Where are you going? To the office?"

"No. I'm going to take care of this," Sam told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh." Emily didn't really know how to respond to that.

"If you see Jamie, send him to my den," he told her, before heading out of the room.

His den was just his home office. Derek had set up a den for Sam when he moved in, claiming that every man needed his own space, but the room had quickly been converted into more of a workspace than a recreational space. Whenever he and Derek had had to deal with some spur of the moment… business, they had gone to Sam's den. That was where… _Damn_—Emily stopped mid thought. She suddenly had an awful feeling that the way Sam was planning to take care of things wasn't going to bode well for Ms. Harris.

In seconds she had jumped out of her chair and ran to Sam's office. She opened the door without knocking—something she never would've done when Derek was alive and the two men had meetings in there. And, when she saw Sam on his Bat Phone, she walked over to him, snatched the phone out of his hand, and hung it up.

"Emily," he said, testily.

"No," she responded, voice sharp. "I'm not going to let you do it."

"Emily," he said again, but this time he sounded considerably less angry. She was perched on the edge of his desk gazing down at him; her brown were eyes blazing and her chest was heaving, and for a minute Sam's breath caught in his throat. When she started talking again, it took a great effort for Sam to lift his gaze from her cleavage to her face, and bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

"I don't want anything happening to this woman," Emily said, trying to get her point across, while being as vague as possible. She had never been in the habit of dipping into Derek and Sam's business, except when asked, but she couldn't let this go on without speaking up. "I think she could still help Casey. And even if she can't—

"What exactly is it you think I'm gonna do?" he inquired, voice slightly mocking.

Now that, she didn't exactly have the answer to, but that didn't mean that she didn't have a couple of theories about it. Sure, Derek had always been the hothead—the impulsive one—but Sam wasn't to be underestimated either. If he thought they were in any kind of danger he could be just as protective as Derek.

But Emily didn't think that Sam's current behavior was necessary. All Dr. Harris needed was a good talking to; this other stuff just wasn't called for.

Now, all she had to do was convince him of that. And though she felt a little bad for what she was about to do, she knew she was going to have to do it anyway.

"Nothing," she answered confidently, her voice having taken on a seductive quality. "I know you won't do anything, Sammy," she fairly purred. "Will you?" He didn't answer, but she knew he was affected. Emily had known for a while that Sam had a thing for her—a thing that she didn't reciprocate—and she felt awful for using it against him, but she hoped that this could be chalked up as a necessary evil.

She raked a hand through his hair, playing with the shaggy mess. "Will you?" she repeated.

It was slight and almost imperceptible, but she saw Sam's head give the tiniest shake.

Emily heaved a sigh of relief. _Crisis averted._

OOOO

Against her better judgment, Kyla had gone into work she'd seriously considered staying home and dropping Mrs. Venturi like the bad habit she was, an idea that her husband supported one hundred percent, but she knew she couldn't do that. There was no way she could leave Casey out in the cold after the woman had been so open with her. Besides the fact that it was completely unethical, it was just plain mean. Casey needed help, and Kyla was going to stick to her commitment and help her. It was simply too late to turn back now.

And, if all that wasn't enough to persuade her to keep Casey on as a patient, there was the little fact that she thought she stood a better chance of living if Casey developed some sort of trust in her. She'd seen how the woman was with Emily—totally dependent and completely loyal—and if she could just get Casey to trust her and trust that she would not betray her confidence, then she was sure that everything would be okay.

At least she hoped it would.

Casey was actually due in a few minutes. And all Kyla could do was hope that her ethics and somewhat morbid curiosity didn't wind up getting her killed.

OOO

When she noticed the knob on her door begin to turn, Kyla rose from her seat and put what she hoped was a serene smile on her face.

"Mrs. Venturi," she said, greeting her in what she hoped was a normal voice. "And, Ms. Davis," she acknowledged Emily, with much less zeal. "I trust you both had a good evening?"

Casey rolled her eyes and then plopped down in her seat, but Emily leaned against the door and responded. "You don't have to pretend that you didn't hear what you heard yesterday," she told her, frankly. "And, as long as nobody else hears it, everything between us will be fine. You," she sent her a pointed look, "will be fine."

That's it? Kyla had been expecting something a little more… theatrical? But all she said was, "Okay."

"Well, great then," Emily said, lightly clapping her hands together. A few whispered phrases to Casey, and one kiss on her cheek later, and Emily had quit the room.

Casey lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it before speaking. "So, have you told anyone what I told you yet?"

"No," she said, vehemently. _Apparently Casey is the least trusting of the two. Surprise, surprise. _"I would never divulge information that any patient of mine told me in confidence." The fervor in her voice was meant to convince Casey that her words were true. "Not only would such a thing be morally wrong, but it—

She was interrupted by Casey snorting, loudly.

"What?" she asked, sounding both insulted and afraid.

"Nothing, nothing," Casey said, waving her hand that was holding the cig in a dismissive gesture, causing the smoke to drift even more around the room. "I'm sure you would never tell anyone anything we've discussed, but I seriously doubt that it has anything to do with your morals. You're probably just afraid that I'd have you bumped off or something."

The way Casey spoke about having her killed—so casually—put more fear in Kyla than anything else. But, she was determined to stick to her whole "no fear" rule so she simply fixed Mrs. Venturi with a steely look.

"Oh, I'm not worried," she said, with a calmness she didn't really feel. "If you have me killed, who'd be around to help you?" She rushed on, before Casey's pursed lips could relax enough to form a response. "Because you do need help. _Lots_ of help," she clarified. "And, I'm glad you told me the truth about what happened that night. There is no way I'll be able to help you if you don't tell me the truth… the whole truth."

'_You can't handle the truth," _was the first thing that popped into Casey's mind. And despite her desire to lend voice to that thought, she managed to say instead, "So you want the truth huh?"

After the briefest of hesitations, Kyla nodded.

Casey sat back and merely thought for a minute. Really, what would be the point of hiding things now? There was no statute of limitations on murder, so if the good doctor really wanted to she had enough information to get Casey locked up for the crime now. The options were either trust her or get rid of the threat she posed. And despite the way the past ten years had hardened Casey, deep down she still wanted to believe that people were good—that Dr. Harris was good. Or, at least, that she was good enough to keep her confidence. Besides, if Kyla were going to flip she probably would've done it by then, and Casey would've been sitting in a cell instead of a plush office.

"Alright," Casey said, shrugging lightly. "You want the truth, you got it." If nothing else, she figured that she might be able to get a new prescription out of this.

"Okay." Kyla blew out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. "During our last session you were just about to name another reason you may be 'ill'," she used air quotes, "when you were um… ah… rendered speechless."

Casey rolled her eyes again. What kind of doctor was this woman? "It's okay to say it, lady," she told her, smartly. "I had a panic attack."

"Right," Kyla said sheepishly, nodding. "What was the other reason?"

"Derek," Casey said.

"Could you elaborate?" she asked when it appeared that Casey wasn't going to continue.

"I let him put on his cape." When Kyla sported a perplexed look, Casey had to close her eyes to keep from rolling them. Then she explained. "I was too messed up in the head then to stop him from ruining his life."

TBC…

A/N: Not much excitement here. But, like I said, I felt like I needed to update. If anyone's still interested, I'd love to hear from you.


End file.
